KND Freebies: Engaging coming-of-age novel VARDIN VILLAGE is featured in today’s Free Kindle Nation Shorts excerpt

Sixteen-year-old George Vardin lives in a crappy, ramshackle cottage with no electricity and a roof that’s about to implode. The creaky front porch overlooks the magnificent ancestral mansion that his father lost because of his drug abuse. George is not sure which is more breathtaking; the view or the irony.

George’s life is about to suck even more because school starts next week and he can’t scrape up enough money to pay his cell phone bill let alone the fee to play varsity football. Uncle Morris shows up and offers a creative solution to keep George and his sister together under one roof. It’s a much larger, less leaky roof, with a breathtaking view of the crappy, ramshackle cottage. Crafty Morris reveals a secret tunnel that leads to the mansion and consequently some Vardin family secrets that will make junior year unforgettable.

5-star praise for Vardin Village:

“…Well told story with delightful resolves throughout. Good stuff!”

‘Great book for teens and up!! Well developed characters…enjoyed thoroughly, highly recommend for a quick read…”

an excerpt from

Vardin Village

by Maggie Spence

 

Copyright © 2014 by Maggie Spence and published here with her permission

Chapter 1

 

George biked quickly to the Vardin Village Sports Park. He was almost late. He hated being late because it drew attention and the last thing he wanted was attention. From the epicenter of downtown Vardin Village, he rode down a tree-lined avenue of gracious older homes, but sixteen-year-old George didn’t notice the scenery; he’d been down this road a thousand times and knew most of the people who lived within the “Heritage District.” For now, his sole focus was getting to work and keeping things normal.

George spotted his best friend, Dillon Haver, and his other good friends, Jackson and Matt, under a huge oak tree near the tool shed. None of them appeared to be working. He glided into the shade of the tree and hopped off.

“Hey, dork-vomit, what took you so long?” Dillon said without really wanting an answer. He was lying in the grass without a care in the world, tossing a baseball into the air and catching it before it came down on his face.

“I had to take Eleanor over to Cassidy’s. Does Coach know I’m late?” George asked. He looked around grabbing his mitt from the carrier on his bike.

“Who gives a crap? We’re on the clock.” Dillon whipped the ball at George who caught it easily.

Jackson and Matt were working on their own volley. “Someone broke into the press box over at Shari Field. Coach is ‘investigating.’” Jackson made rabbit ear quotes with one hand since his glove was on the other. He caught a wild ball from Matt. “Prolly some smokers.”

George didn’t miss a beat in his game of catch but his mouth went dry and his breathing was forced.

“Your dad’s over there, Jackson?” George asked trying to sound uninterested.

“Uh…, it’s his job.” Jackson Quinn loved and respected his father but had to pretend it was a huge burden.

George threw one last ball to Dillon and headed for the tool shed. “Let’s get to work before Coach gets back and starts screaming like a woman. Come on, bush-leaguers.”

Gloves and balls got tossed near the bikes as the pack grudgingly followed George into the heat. None of them were particularly motivated, except George.

“Dibs on tractor!” Dillon and Jackson bellowed simultaneously, then raced to the garage. Dillon easily won the right to drive; Jackson earned shotgun. With their attention completely focused on hitting Matt with the tractor, none of the boys noticed George’s panic. He was able to control his breathing and follow his friends as Dillon serpentined the tractor all the way to the junior football field. The guys laughed when Matt tripped and the tractor came within inches of running over his head. George pretended to find it hilarious but his eye was on Shari Baseball Diamond.

Their job for the day was to spread some kitty litter stuff on the little kids’ football field in preparation for the upcoming season. None of them played on these grounds anymore having aged into the high school fields but they had all spent much of their youth in these arenas. The boys earned nine dollars and sixteen cents per hour, not bad for teens in the current economic climate, although George was the only one doing it for the money. While George shoveled, the other three wrestled in the dirt taking full advantage of the non-supervision.

Across the football field, George could see a police car parked next to the “Press Box” which was really just a house-size building with a concession stand on the ground floor and an announcer’s booth on the second floor overlooking Shari Field. Just some chairs up there and an old couch, a small fridge. The sound equipment and scoreboard panel were in storage for the off season so what was the big deal? Nothing to steal or damage except maybe a scratched up CD of Whitney Houston singing the national anthem and a few pencils. Coach and Chief Quinn came out the back door.

George’s mind raced to figure out where he went wrong. He never left anything behind. Damn. But wait, it wasn’t like they were gonna check for prints, right? They’d blame the homeless guy from the park and move on. Yeah. His panic subsided. Okay. It just meant a new routine. No biggie. Control.

Oh, no. George froze as Archie Beauchamp pulled up in a village truck. Coach and Chief Quinn walked over to greet him. Archie pointed up at the booth while he talked. Then he suddenly turned and pointed to George. At least, it seemed that way to George.

Archie Beauchamp worked security at Vardin Village High School and when he wasn’t wearing a neon vest and yelling at kids who walked against the light, he was walking his beat at Vardin’s Sports Park, yelling at the kids to get out of his way. George had been afraid of him since T-ball, but now he had good reason. Old Archie Beauchamp knew his secret.

The other guys started shoveling when they saw the three men approach. George knew his face was flushed so he kept looking down and worked up a sweat, more from stress than the heat or exertion.

“What’s Beauchamp doing here?” Matt never connected the dots.

“Maybe he stores the dead bodies up there.” Dillon offered. Of all the boys, Dillon was the one most in trouble at school, especially from Archie Beauchamp. Dillon did not take kindly to rules or those who enforced them.

Jackson kept shoveling. “He’ll blame you for whatever it is, idiot.” He was talking to Dillon. “Just shut up and try not act like all bush.”

George was about to hyperventilate. Was this how it would all collapse? Was it over? He tried to focus and make up a reason for being in the booth. Checking the grounds…? Yeah, or maybe, he left something up there when he was umping for the little guys. The panic almost made him pass out. He leaned on the shovel as the men approached and tried to act like it was no big deal.

“Hey, Dad, what’s going on?” Jackson asked with respect when the three men approached.

Archie never cracked a smile or offered a greeting. He stared down Dillon who smirked back at him. Then his gaze moved to George.

Coach was livid. He yelled almost everything he had to say during normal conversation so this situation upped the volume. “DAMN KIDS BREAKING INTO OUR BOOTH! NOT THE SPORTS KIDS! NOPE, THE LOSERS! GONNA HAVE TO CHANGE THE CODE!” He walked off some steam much like he did when an ump made a bad call. He had finally memorized the code and now it was going to change again. He pounded a fist into his other hand. “DAMMIT!”

Chief Quinn wasn’t nearly so dramatic. “Just some stuff moved around up in the booth.” He calmly searched the sweaty faces of the teen boys.

Jackson shook his head solemnly at his father, silently apologizing for the troubled youth of the village.

Dillon stepped up with a solution, “I’ve seen some of the theatre kids lurking around, Coach. They might be using the press box for some kind of rehearsal. Maybe a cast party. You know how they are.” He said with a straight face.

“DAMN THEATRE KIDS ALWAYS PUTTING ON SHOWS!” Coach looked to the heavens and then realized nobody was buying it. “OH, YOU’RE PLAYING WITH ME! NOT FUNNY, DILLON HAVER! THIS IS SERIOUS!”

“What’s the big deal?” Dillon responded. “If nothing was damaged, who cares?”

Archie couldn’t take it. “That’s enough lip out of you, Smartmouth McGee!” He didn’t like Smartmouth McGees interrupting adults doing important investigative work.

Chief went through the motions. “Did any of you kids see anyone around the press box lately?”

Nope. Not that they would have noticed or squealed, not even on the theatre kids. George shook his head along with the others waiting for the inevitable but events took an unusual turn.

“It was them goths.” Archie said with disgust. “They been creeping around here looking to smoke their grass and sacrifice goats and cut theirselves.”

“Hmmm. Yes. I figured as much.” Chief Quinn answered. Although, “Unknown Subjects” would go down on the official report.

“I’ll keep a better eye on the place, Chief.” Then Archie Beauchamp nodded ever so slightly to George, glared at Dillon and walked away. An immense sense of relief washed over George. He couldn’t believe his luck and he couldn’t believe Beauchamp would let this slide. Beauchamp!

“GET BACK TO WORK!” Coach roared, wanting to get home for lunch. “WE CAN’T STAND AROUND TALKING ALL DAY!”

The boys went back to their shovels and dirt and George breathed normally. But Coach wasn’t done.

“GEORGE! A WORD!”

Oh, God.

Coach walked away from the pile correctly assuming George would follow. When they were out of earshot, Coach took a stance and crossed his arms. He fumbled at first.

“GEORGE. GEORGE, SOME OF THE BOYS TELL ME YOU’RE NOT…! YOU HAVEN’T BEEN AT ALL THE WORKOUTS…! WHAT’S GOING ON!?”

“Yeah. I’ve been meaning to talk to you. My hammie’s been acting up and I think…”

“WHAT!? YOUR HAMMIE!?” Coach was immediately concerned. “HAS DOC LOOKED AT IT?”

Doc was not a doctor. He was the assistant coach for Varsity football and baseball but he could diagnose pulled muscles all day long. Ice was usually the treatment. Sometimes heat.

“No. I’m just icing and taking it easy.”

“YOU NEED TO TELL DOC! TODAY! NOW LISTEN, I HEARD FROM THE OFFICE THAT WE HAVEN’T GOTTEN YOUR SPORTS FEE OR YOUR PHYSICAL! WHAT THE HELL, BOY!?”

“I’ve been thinking maybe I should take a break and…”

Coach blew. “YOUR FIRST YEAR IN VARSITY?!” Even the guys looked up from the dirt pile. “YOU’RE NOT QUITTING FOOTBALL, GEORGE, WE NEED YOU, DAMMIT! DERRICK JANSEN CAN’T CARRY THIS TEAM FOREVER!”

“I think my mom said she mailed the check yesterday. And the physical was in there, too. I’ll ask her when I get home.”

“ALL RIGHT THEN….”

George hesitated wondering how much longer he could delay the inevitable. He felt bad about lying to Coach but he didn’t want to argue.

Coach was done with the conversation. “YA THINK THE TURF’S GONNA FIX ITSELF!? GET BACK TO WORK!”

George got back to his shovel without a word. The guys waited for an explanation but George wasn’t talking.

Matt couldn’t take it. “What did Coach want, George?”

All the guys looked up. Dillon thought he knew but would never openly speak about it.

“He said you Smartmouth McGees should join the drama club ‘cuz you suck at football.”

The guys laughed it off but Dillon knew something was up.

Matt stopped laughing suddenly. “Wait. Really?”

 

Chapter 2

 

The guys were going to Chipotle after work which sounded great to George but not an option. No way. This last paycheck had to last. He was losing weight from his new diet of eating nothing coupled with grueling physical work days in the August heat. Whatever.

Sometimes he thought the anxiety of the daily struggle would crush him but what was the alternative? He didn’t have the luxury of giving up. He had Eleanor to consider and, really, that responsibility was the only thing that kept him from losing his mind entirely. She was seven years old and completely unaware of the thin thread that kept their world together. Good. He wouldn’t wish the dread on anyone, certainly not his little sister.

He made it to the Tillman’s stately home by three, just like he told Mrs. Tillman he would. They were going to their Wisconsin lake house for a few days and needed to leave before rush hour. George didn’t want to cause a delay in their plans. Didn’t want anyone inconvenienced.

“Oh, George, I just told the girls to get ready.” Poppy Tillman answered the door dressed in what George imagined was Resort Attire. “Come on in.”

He was happy to bask in the cool air and fine scent of the grand Mcmansion foyer. It felt wonderful.

The Tillman’s house was built on two lots in the older part of town. Still close to the downtown business area but nestled into a wooded lot where Vardin Village blue collars used to call home. Tear-downs were all too common in the village as moneyed urbanites raced to the burbs for the good schools and a simpler life. George was happy that Eleanor’s bestie was within biking distance and not out past the river where there were even bigger houses and more money.

“We’d love to have Eleanor join us this weekend. I left a message for your mom but…”

George kept the smile on his face.

“She’s been working nights, Mrs. Tillman. She asked me to thank you for inviting Eleanor but we have plans this weekend. A big party with the family.”

“Oh. Your mother’s family? Obviously, right?”

It sucked when everyone knew your family tree. Well, they knew his dad’s family tree but his mom’s side was a big mystery, even to her.

“Yes. We’re going to Chicago for a family reunion. Plus she wants to do some back-to-school shopping. A lot going on.”

“How fun.” She responded with patronizing enthusiasm. Really, she was just waiting for her turn to talk.  “We’re actually meeting the Jansen’s up at the lake. They’re coming up Sunday after the wedding.” She was bragging even though George didn’t care about the social connections of rich people, but he had to seem impressed in order to get her to stop talking. So he raised his eyebrows with an expression of, I’m impressed.  She took that as encouragement to continue. “Did you know we were friends with the Jansens?”

“I assumed you were.” The Jansens had the biggest house across the river and the coolest cars. Mrs. Jansen was Miss USA in 1992 and had a million other titles. Mr. Jansen was a successful attorney on the fast track to become the next mayor. Their eighteen-year-old son was the star quarterback for the high school football team. Sooooo……

Poppy found that hilarious. “Oh, George. You crack me up.”  She was pleased.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Eleanor and Cassidy skipped in. Eleanor was relieved to see George and ran to him. She liked playing with Cassidy but was ready to get home to her books.

“Bye Cassidy. Have fun at your lake house.”

“Bye Eleanor. I wish I could text you but you don’t have a phone.” Cassidy reminded Eleanor not unkindly, more puzzled that any child should have to live without basic communication.

“Thank you Mrs. Tillman. Enjoy your weekend with the Jansens.” George headed out into the heat.

“Yes. It’s nice to get out of Vardin Village every once in a while.”

Exactly what George Vardin thought as he and Eleanor rode away.

Chapter 3

 

Dr. Reginald Fathergill stood in the ballroom of Vardin Mansion. It took up the rear half of the second floor. He loved this old house and the rich history of the Vardins. He knew most every detail of their storied lives from the first known George Vardin, whom he called George One, through today. His sole focus now was chronicling the lives of the Vardin family hoping one day to publish his findings.

He knew the family mansion like the back of his hand, in fact, he lived in it. Well, he had a small apartment on the second floor but he had the run of the house and lately, it was just him and the other resident, Dolly Wu. The weekend tours were done for the season. Nothing scheduled until the day after Thanksgiving when the Vardin Village Tree Lighting Ceremony would commence for the 93rd year in a row. George Four started the tradition back in 1919, the year George Five was born. But that might be the last official event at Vardin Mansion. The village board was still deciding the fate of the house and, consequently, the career path of Reginald Fathergill.

The mansion was approximately 10,000 square feet with 9 bedrooms, two kitchens, a great hall, a conservatory, an impressive library, two dining rooms, a chapel, the ball room, and twelve bathrooms. The house and surrounding four acres were now owned by the village, a generous donation by George Six. He envisioned his family home as a meeting place for the town elders, a place to lodge for visiting dignitaries and festive party venue for the town’s elite. He didn’t live long enough to realize that the town elders had modern offices, visiting dignitaries had the Marriott and the town’s elite had their own homes for entertaining. The mansion was a nice centerpiece in the quaint Midwestern village, but the expense was hard to justify these days.

The Village Board hired Dr. Fathergill to turn the mansion into the crown jewel of Vardin Village while generating enough revenue to pay for itself. Fail. The Bed and Breakfast attempt was a bust, the museum initiative lasted a few years but most everyone in town had taken the tour and while they enjoyed the park which surrounded the mansion, the house itself was a liability which is how Mayor Langworthy recently explained it to Reginald. The village board didn’t want to dole out the hefty maintenance for a mansion that the town didn’t need when they could easily sell it, keep most of the park and pocket the maintenance trust. Reginald saw the writing on the ivy covered wall. They would let him ride out his contract and living arrangements for another year, tops, while they found a buyer. After that, he was jobless and homeless. The unavoidable conclusion made him work harder on the book.  He knew the end of his dream job was coming soon.

From his perch overlooking the rear gardens he could see the cottage built by George One back in 1833. The first George Vardin escaped the work houses of London and made it to Northern Illinois with enough money in his pocket to buy ninety acres of forest, just north of Chicago. He lived in the cottage with his wife and son, George Two, and opened a small trading post. There were plenty of trees in Illinois and plenty of growth in Chicago so George brilliantly and with impeccable timing, opened Vardin Lumber. When the railroad came through, George added a depot and post office to his store thus the birth of Vardin Village, officially chartered in 1840.

George One got very rich with all the new settlers and the Chicago building boom. Construction on the mansion started in 1842, built with lumber from his empire and local craftsman, happy for employment. The acreage surrounding the mansion was eventually sold off to pioneering businessmen and became the village, but always, the mansion was the center of attention.  Reginald found letters written by George One with very little information about his personal life and family but several pages detailing the pride he felt about his beloved mansion and the scorn he felt for the humble cottage.

Reginald spotted George Eight and his little sister Eleanor cruising up to the cottage on their bikes. They lived there with their mother, Amber Vardin, widow of George Seven. The little cottage was all that belonged to this generation of Vardins. George Six had seen to that with his shocking last will and testament. The village got most everything and the family got the run-down little cottage in the shadow of the beautiful mansion.

Sweet how young George cared for the little girl, Reginald thought as he watched the teenager help his sister off her bike. He would have loved the opportunity to interview the kids and keep them abreast of his research but Amber Vardin would never allow it. Funny how he felt practically like a Vardin, lived in the family home, for heaven’s sake, even watched the children grow up but had never spoken to them. When the village ended up selling the big house to private investors, what would happen to the Vardin children and their little cottage on a half-acre?

George was relieved to see the grocery bag waiting on the porch. Someone had been leaving the care packages every Thursday for the last few weeks. It was a little creepy not knowing who the benefactor was but right now he was famished, a little curious, but too hungry to ponder.

He spotted Dr. Fathergill watching from the mansion but didn’t wave. His mom never liked the “black-know-it-all” curator even though the man had always seemed friendly. George grabbed the mail as he walked into the cozy interior, made cozier by the extreme heat. The electricity had been turned off last month. The gas was done in May. Eleanor didn’t seem to notice the heat as she took her library book to her usual seat by the open window. If they could just get through the dog days of summer, the autumn would seem nice and cool. Of course, then the winter would come and they would have the opposite problem but the fireplace would keep the main room warm. He couldn’t think that far ahead. He could just get through today and hopefully, tomorrow. Then, if he was lucky, the day after that.

The original cottage was one large room with a wood stove and a small section curtained off for sleeping. In the 1890s, an addition was added with three small bedrooms, a bathroom and some storage. The main room became the family room, dining room and kitchen, really a great room like George saw in his friends’ modern houses. The wood stove was long gone but the fireplace remained and still worked just fine. He would think about sub-zero temperatures when the time came.

George set out dinner, peanut butter sandwiches and canned pears, on the trestle table that had been in the house since 1841. It could seat fourteen people easily and was built, by George One, to last. Maybe old George thought he would fill it with children one day but the table never made the move to the mansion and didn’t seat any more Vardin children until the 21st century. Too heavy to move, most likely, more suited to the groundskeepers’ families who were raised in the cottage through the years. George Eight knew the story that George One made the table with his bare hands at a time when his whole life was ahead of him and his dream was to get out of the little cottage and into something better. George Eight touched the smooth wood surface and hoped for just the opposite. He prayed that he and Eleanor would stay in the little cottage. At least a little longer.

Eleanor reluctantly set down her book and came to the table. She was never a chatty kid but lately George was concerned about her withdrawal. She spent a lot of time at the Tillman’s house where there was food and a doting mother. It must be bitterly disappointing to come home to the cottage yet she never complained.

“Did you have fun at Cassidy’s today?”

Eleanor nodded.

“Did you go swimming?”

She nodded again with a mouth full of sandwich. That was good. He didn’t have to worry about a bath for her today although her hair could use a good washing.

“I got you a new uniform to start second grade.”

Her face looked doubtful.

“It’s not actually new. It’s Kristin Quinn’s old jumper but it looks like new.”

“Mom says I’m not going back to St. Andrew’s. She says they’re all jerks over there.”

“She was just kidding.”

“When’s mom getting home?” She asked the same question every day.

A knock at the door kept him from lying. George held his finger to his lips to keep her quiet. They rarely answered the door.

The knocking continued and a familiar voice called out. “Hey! It’s me. Let me in. It’s Uncle Morris.”

George was overcome with relief as he went to open the door. Eleanor didn’t like the intrusion but she sensed George needed Uncle Morris right now. George let him in.

He wasn’t really their uncle, just a friend of Grandpa George. Really good friends, according to Reginald Fathergill’s interviews with the townsfolk. An unlikely pair, George Six and Morris Adler, if you believed the stories. George Six was an angry, conservative workaholic who couldn’t abide the social changes of the 1960s and 70s. Morris was a hippie who owned a rare-book-and-puzzle store in town. They became good friends during the calm of the 1980s despite their political differences and had breakfast together every day at the Village Diner for twenty years until George Six’s untimely death in 2003.

Morris was a young 67 years old. He wore offbeat clothes and had a long grey pony tail that he couldn’t bear to cut off. He’d been sporting it since it was jet black and it represented his lifestyle and antiestablishment views. He was the closest thing the kids had to a relative.

Morris Adler stopped short when he entered. “Why’s it so hot in here?”

“Long story, Uncle Morris.” George shook his hand. Eleanor didn’t look up from her place at the table.

“Come on in.” George welcomed him.

Morris took a seat at the old table and eyed the meager meal, felt the heat of the room, no lights. He didn’t need a road map.

“Did your mom forget to pay the electric bill?”

George nodded. “Yeah.”

“Oh, crap.”

“How was Tibet?”

“Fine. Where is she?” He looked around the main room.

“Working late.”

“At the diner?”

“No. Second shift over at Medicorp.”

“Medicorp? Well, I’ll see her tomorrow but for now, who wants a present?” He pulled an ornate Oriental fan from his pack. Eleanor accepted the gift at George’s urging but didn’t open it.

“I guess a fan is the perfect gift if you live in this cottage!”

He opened the gift to show Eleanor the pretty pink flowers. She didn’t smile. He gently fanned her but she drew away from him. When he handed it back she set it on the table.

“How about you both come back with me to the hotel? I’ll get you guys a room and you won’t have to deal with this heat.”

George shook his head. “Thank you but I don’t think my mom would allow that.”

“Just until we get the electricity back on. Can you ask her?”

“I’ll give her a call but she won’t be able to let me know until her break.”

Morris considered for a moment. “Okay. I got some stuff to do anyway. How about I come back later and if your mom says yes, I’ll take you to the hotel.”

“Sure. I’ll call her right now.”

Chapter 4

 

Maria Ramirez worked six days a week at her diner, resting only on Mondays. She had never taken a vacation in the twenty-two years since she bought the diner with tip money from her thirty-four years as a waitress. Business was good. The bills were paid. She had a great location right in the center of town, across the street from the East side of Vardin Park so her customers had a front view of the mansion and the gardens. She was proud of her stability and good name in the village.

She locked the front door after the last customer left but stopped short when she spotted an old familiar face walking briskly through the park. Morris Adler. What do you know? She unlocked the door.

“What on earth? You’re back already?” She called to him.

“I missed your cooking, Maria. Those monks don’t know how to make a sandwich.”

They embraced as old friends do. They had known each other since grammar school, almost sixty years.

“How long are you home for?” Maria led him to a window booth.

“Just a few days and then off to the Pacific Northwest.”

“Let me get you some iced tea. Chai with a little drop of honey.”

“You remembered.” He smiled.

Maria brought them both icy glasses and a plate of scones. She patted his hand.

“Did you find what you were looking for in China?”

“Nah. But it was cool. I like the Zen thing but not the uniforms. Think I’ll stay stateside for a while.” He savored the scones. Homemade and wonderful.

“I saw you coming from the Mansion.”  Maria stated but with a question mark at the end.

“I was over at the cottage checking on the kids.”

“Did Amber tell you I fired her?”

“No.” He shut his eyes, cringed, and waited for the story.

“I kept her as long as I could. The worst waitress I ever had.”

“Sorry. Damn. It was a bad idea. I thought she could swing it.”

“She was stealing from the register, Morris.”

Morris sighed.

Maria worried. “How are the kids? I haven’t seen them lately and Amber has kept her distance.”

“They’re fine. Considering.”

“She’s gotten worse than ever. Really, I’ve never seen her this bad.”

“She still drinking?”

“Of course. I mean, I haven’t heard any drunk and disorderly stories lately but when she worked here she would finish her shift and go straight to Flagg’s Tavern. She didn’t even go check on the kids first!”

“Well, I plan to set her straight before I blow this town.”

“You can’t force her into AA. You can’t force her to love her kids.”

“We’ll see. Hey is that Fathergill guy still over at the mansion?”

“For now.”

“What’s that mean?”

“The ten year anniversary is fast approaching. Mayor Langworthy pretty much told Reginald to wrap it up.”

“We all could see that coming.”

“No surprise.”

They caught up on health and wellbeing for a while, then Morris took his leave. “I’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow. Can’t wait for an omelet.”

She walked him to the door.

“You know, maybe you need to stop traveling so much. Maybe all the answers you’re looking for are right here in Vardin Village.”

He stepped out into the heat of the night. “That would be weird. Thanks for the tea, Maria. Good night.” She watched him walk away then headed upstairs to her apartment over the diner.

Chapter 5

 

Dolly Wu rearranged the silverware drawer in the family kitchen of the Vardin Mansion. She had worked and lived in the house for thirty-two years. When the village got the house they also got Dolly as stipulated in the will. She would always keep her suite on the second floor and she could work at “maintaining the house as the Vardins would have wanted” as long as she desired. The old man had sympathized with her disorder and didn’t want her displaced after his death. The village lawyers were not comfortable with the arrangement, but for ten years she puttered around, put in her two cents with the board via email and collected her monthly stipend from the estate. She hadn’t stepped outside of the mansion in over fifteen years. Luckily, she could order anything she needed on her laptop and the mailman was happy to deliver. Dolly and Reginald stayed out of each other’s way and coexisted peacefully.

She was startled when the doorbell rang. It was more of a door “gong” and she used to hear it a lot when Mrs. Vardin was still walking around.  Not so much when it was just the old man. Who the heck was ringing the gong at ten o’clock at night?

Dolly and Reginald got to the grand front entrance at the same time. They both shook their heads and shrugged to each other, not knowing who the caller might be. Reginald opened the door to Morris Adler.

“Mr. Adler. How nice to see you. Please come in.” They shook hands.

“Sorry to pop in on you like this… Hi, Dolly.” He shook her hand, too.

Reginald wasn’t used to company but Dolly was ready for a good visit.

“Come on in, Morris Adler! How you been? I dreamed about you a few nights ago. I started a book club here at the manse but the old ladies made me crazy. I had to disband the group due to extreme boredom.” She shepherded the men into the front parlor which was where the old man used to see his guests. It was an impressive room with portraits of all the Georges except the last two.

“You’re too young for that crowd, Dolly.” Morris responded. Reginald was usually taken aback by Dolly’s strange non sequitur banter but Morris seemed to roll with it.

“Right? They’re always talking about grandkids and meds. Blah. I hear you were visiting the land of my ancestors who threw me away because I’m a girl.”

“Uh. Yes.”

“They suck. Sit.”

“Have you been out and about lately?”

“No, I’m still a homebody. Don’t rush me, Morris.”

Dolly got comfortable. Reginald sat down, curious. Morris had been cooperative about the transition of the house from residence to museum but he didn’t exactly embrace the new curator at the time. He refused all requests to be interviewed about the Vardins leaving Reginald with some frustratingly blank pages. Maybe this unexpected visit was the chance Reginald had been waiting for.

“The place looks great. You’ve kept it pretty much the same.”

“I hope I have done my part in fulfilling Mr. Vardin’s last wishes.” Reginald said.

“Yeah. Last wishes. Well, they were the last ones that George put down on paper but they weren’t his last wishes.”

“Perhaps, but it’s not for us to judge, Mr. Adler.”

“No. But, as George’s friend and executor of the estate, I keep wanting to make things right by those children. You know what I mean?”

“I am merely an employee, hired to manage the property for the good people of Vardin Village.”

“He never meant to cut the grandchildren out. He was trying to teach his kid a lesson about responsibility but the old curmudgeon died before he could change the will back to include his son.”

Reginald threw up his hands. “We have to respect his last will and testament to the letter. We can’t begin to guess what his real intentions were in the end.”

Morris knew the legal conclusion but for ten years it had ticked him off. And now George’s grandson and granddaughter were in a house without electricity, with a grossly negligent mother who worked the night shift and hung out in bars. He wanted badly to get to Oregon for retirement but he could not, in good conscience, leave until he felt the kids were okay. He had enough money to pay some of their bills and buy some groceries but, come on, they should have the family money.

“Look, you’ve been doing the inventory around here. George had a ton of valuable stuff. I know they’ll never have the real estate but isn’t it possible that I could fight the will and maybe get the kids some of this art work… Something!” He gestured toward a wall hanging from the 16th century.

“I’m happy to help if you think there is a loophole in the will you can exploit. There are some valuable paintings in the gallery, some object d’art that would bring a nice price at auction but, again, the village rightfully owns everything in this house. I don’t see how you can argue a case for the children inheriting anything.”

“I just want to give it one more shot.”

Dolly couldn’t contain herself. “You’re crazy if you do.”

“What? Why?”

“You’re thinking that would give the kids better clothes, better food, better life and you would be wrong.”

“How could it hurt to give the kids a few bucks from the estate?”

“Because the money wouldn’t go to the kids. It would go to the skank.”

She was right. Amber had been married to the heir, and because he was dead, Amber would inherit.

“But if I argue that George wanted the money to stay in the family…”

“You know it doesn’t work that way.” Reginald said reasonably.

“You might make it worse if Amber were to get her hands on any real money,” Dolly said with a scowl. “She wouldn’t spend it on the kids. She would spend it at Flagg’s. Who’re you kidding, Morris?”

“I think we know she had the best lawyers on the case during the initial probate.” Reginald pointed out.

“I remember.” Morris remembered that the trial kept him from a trip to Portugal.

Reginald took a shot. “I have read the will, Mr. Adler. I know George Vardin left a package for you. A package so secret that it was kept in a safety deposit box that only he and his attorney could access. Perhaps there is something of value in that.”

Morris didn’t respond or acknowledge. He waited for the inevitable question.

Reginald continued. “Some of the locals claim the package contains a vast fortune in bonds. Some think it was diamonds. I have my own theories.”

Morris stood up. “You go right ahead and theorize, Doctor.”

“I just wondered if the contents of the package could help the children.” Reginald back pedaled.

Morris thought about it. “Eh, not really. It wasn’t money or jewels. It’s way cooler than riches but it doesn’t help the kids, sorry to say.”

“I guess we’ll never know.” Reginald said with a sigh. It was so frustrating.

Morris hesitated and then added. “I will tell you this. George called me about a week before he died. Left a message on my cell but I was in a houseboat on the Ganges. Not a really good connection especially back in those days.”

Reginald was listening. This was new.

Morris continued. “He said in the message that he needed to talk to me. He said it was urgent. He said he had an idea to take care of his son but he wanted to run it by me before he put it in writing.”

“And….” Reginald was on the edge of his seat.

“I got the message when we pulled into port at Mungar. I called.” Morris nodded to Dolly. “Dolly answered and broke the news. George had died in his sleep the night before. Heart attack.”

“Sucked for me.” Dolly said. “Just about broke my heart to lose that old bastard. I was pretty emotional when you called, Morris. Remember that?”

“It’s okay, Dolly. He was too young to die. We were all upset.”

Dolly snorted. “Amber wasn’t upset! She was happy for the first few days ‘til the lawyers told her she was getting nothing. George was upset but he ended up at Flagg’s for three days straight. Paddy finally sent him home and told him to sober up for the funeral.”

“This is the first I’m hearing of this,” Reginald said with amazement. “I always thought George would have changed his mind about the will but I never knew there was an actual phone message stating his intention.”

Morris threw up his hands. “What good does it do us?”

“It does nothing for Amber or the children but it’s interesting. I assume that his lawyer was contacted regarding any last minute changes that might have transpired.” Reginald surmised.

“Harvey Harrington was his lawyer and friend. He drafted the will after a lot of discussion and consideration. He drafted the “Dolly” clause that had the whole village board up in arms.”

Dolly smirked. “Harvey was a nice guy. He didn’t want to cut out the family but the old man was on a roll. I witnessed the signing of the will right here in this study.”

Reginald leaned forward. “Mr. Harvey Harrington verified its authenticity during probate?”

Dolly and Morris both shook their heads. “No, he was dead by then.” Morris answered. “Harvey died a few years before George but they went through his office with a fine tooth comb to see if there had been any addendums. Harvey Jr. runs the firm now. Nothing. George never went back to change anything.”

“There’s your answer, Mr. Adler. It’s nice that he was about to reconsider but, he didn’t.”

Dolly shrugged. “And the kids get stuck with a dead grandpa, a dead dad and Amber to raise them. It’s not right.”

“I’m grabbing at straws here to help these kids out.” Morris said. “But I think the inheritance is wishful thinking. Well, I had to give it a try. Thanks for your time, Dr. Fathergill.”

Reginald took his shot. “I’d still like to interview you for my book.”

“Nah, sorry. It’s all in the past and I’m moving on.”

Morris went back to the cottage to get the children. George was still up and let him in. The kid looked exhausted. Eleanor was asleep. The only light was a Coleman camping lantern and the heat was oppressive. Tomorrow, he was going to give Amber a good piece of his mind and demand she step up to the plate. He’d give her enough money to catch up and a stern speech with thinly veiled threats.

“What did your mom say about the hotel?”

“No way.”

Morris sighed. Amber would never even know if he took them but he didn’t need a kidnapping charge when she came crawling home tomorrow. He would have to lose this battle but, gosh, it was hot in here.

For now he needed to give George a pep talk. “I know this has been hard for you, George.”

“No, we’re fine. Don’t worry Uncle Morris. It’s all good.”

“I’d like to help out. What can I do, what do you need?”

“Actually, I wanted to ask, before my mom does, if it’s possible to borrow a little money?”

“I got you covered, kid. Tomorrow I’m going to pay off the electric bill and all the other utilities so you won’t have to bake in this oven.”

“That would be so awesome. I can’t thank you enough. But there’s one more thing, my mom might not mention. The roof over the bedrooms has a few leaks. It needs patching.”

“I’ll get some guys to take a look.”

“Mom already got an estimate from Brainerd Brothers. I think it’s over here.”

George walked over to a drawer and rustled around for a second before pulling out a handwritten estimate. He handed it to Morris who recognized the local contractor. He studied the numbers.

“Whoa. They need to replace the whole thing. Six grand? Good God!”

“Oh, and I think this is where my mom keeps the utility bills and stuff.” George pulled out a few envelopes and handed them to over to Morris.

It was hard to read in the dim light but Morris could make out enough to know that he couldn’t spare the three grand it would take to bring the bills current.

“What time does your mom usually get home?”

“It depends. Really late. Then she’ll need to sleep for a while and then she’ll need to get back to work. Hard to say.”

“Does she have a cell phone?”

“Yeah, but she’s not allowed to talk while she’s at work.”

“Here. Type her number into my phone.” Morris handed his cell over to George and went back to studying the bills. George quickly entered the number.

“All right. I’m going to take care of this,” Morris held up the envelopes and roofing quote, “tomorrow. Then I’ll talk to your mom and we’ll get you guys all fixed up. Okay?”

“Just leave her a message. We really appreciate it. We really do.”

“I know, kid.”

George went to sleep that night feeling much better.  Sweaty, but better. At least it gave him more time. The weight was still bearing down on him but the burden had been lightened.

Morris went back to the Marriott feeling the weight. He called Amber Vardin’s cell phone and got her message: “Hey, it’s Amber Vardin. You know what to do!” He left a polite message asking her to call back.

Chapter 6

 

Morris had a huge breakfast at the Village Diner. The regulars were happy to see him and brought him up to date on the local gossip. It was good to see everyone again. He looked out the window at the beautiful park and the incredible mansion and worried about the kids. He never had any children of his own. There had been a lot of women in his life but never any offspring that he knew of. He never wanted the burden of kids, the anchor of kids. When his mom died a few years back, he thought he could cut his last tie to Vardin Village and finally leave for good. His business had gone belly up and he really didn’t have a reason to return. As soon as he sold his mom’s house, he would have a little nest egg and the freedom to travel. Unfortunately, the housing market took a dive. He was stuck with a house, taxes, realtors, all the things that keep a person tied down. There were renters in the house now because he couldn’t sell the stupid thing but he still had the obligation and now he had kids to worry about. He might as well be married and cooped up because the results were the same.

Maria was giving him one last shot of coffee when Archie Beauchamp approached. Without waiting to be asked he sat down on the other side of the booth.

“I heard you were in town, Morris.”

“Hi, Archie. Won’t you join me? Oh, you already did.”

“I won’t keep you from your business Mr. Wiseacre McGee. Hi, Maria. Can I get a coffee to go?”

“Sure, Archie. I’ll bring it right out.” Maria kept moving.

“Did I mention that I didn’t miss you one bit while you was gone?”

“Same. How’s the car?”

The only thing that could make Archie Beauchamp smile was his 1948 emerald green, convertible Packard. Morris asking about it was his way of communicating with the old cuss. It was one of the few subjects that would invoke a pleasant exchange. And sure enough, Archie brightened up at the mention of his favorite topic.

“Runnin’ better than any of these new electric contraptions. Drove the mayor and his missus in the parade again this year since it’s the best car in the village. People take notice when I drive that car around here.”

“Still doing the car shows?”

“Ah, just the local ones. Nice to chat with other guys who can appreciate yesteryear.”

“I’ll have to check out the next Vardin Drive Night before I skip town.”

“Yeah, the guys will want to see you and I’ll show you the new head I got on the shifter. Three-on-the-tree never looked so fancy.”

“Are you ever gonna let me drive it?”

“Never. Won’t let Jay Peterson drive it either even though he begs me every time I see him.”

“That car is the envy of every man in this town, Arch.”

“Think I don’t know it? That Packard is the only thing I ever inherited in my life. My granddad was a strict son-of-a-gun but he raised me right and my reward for living a good life was that car. Jay’s crazy if he thinks he’s ever gonna drive it.”

“Jay’s crazy about a lot of things.” Morris answered.

“Hey, you been checkin’ in on the Vardin kids?” Archie changed the subject because he was ready to move on.

“Sure. I always do when I’m in town.”

“I been noticing some things I wanted to tell you about.”

“Coyotes, again?”

“If I did spot any more dangerous predatory wild animals, I wouldn’t tell you about it.”

“Darn.”

“Someone’s been breaking into the press box over at the baseball fields.”

“It wasn’t me.”

“You wasn’t even here, Mr. Dumbhead McGee. I started noticing stuff was moved around. Actually, stuff was tidied up. What struck me as peculiar was I always noticed it was after a rainfall and we’ve had a few doozy rainstorms this summer. Anyway, last Saturday night it rained like hell so the next morning I went over the sports field and waited. Sure enough, who do you think I caught coming out of the press box?”

“Harry Carey.”

“Not even close to being funny, Morris. It was young George Vardin, that’s who. Scared of his own shadow when he saw me, too.”

Morris sighed deeply. What was the kid up to?

“He was carrying a sleeping bag and backpack. It was almost as if he slept there or something.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

“Just a big fat bucket of nothin’ that’s what. I know the kid’s been getting bids for a new roof over there.” He gestured toward the cottage. “He don’t want to sleep in his own house during the rain ‘til that roof gets fixed so he’s been sleeping in the press box. A course I have an obligation to turn him in but I won’t. He ain’t doing anyone no harm.”

Morris couldn’t believe that Archie Beauchamp was doing something nice. Wow.

“I appreciate that, Arch. The family is going through a rough patch. Thanks for covering for him.”

“Problem is, Coach noticed the other day and called the cops. I blamed it on the cutters but the boy needs to find a new camp. Will you tell him?”

“Yeah. Hey, thanks.”

Maria handed Archie his coffee and he gave her two dollar bills. As he was pulling himself out of the booth, Morris stopped him.

“What do you mean that George has been going around town getting estimates for the roof? Wasn’t Amber getting the quotes?”

“Nope, it was young George. Some of the guys from Brainerd Brothers Construction were telling me about it. They tried to go low on the bid but the roof is rotten. It’s going to crash in if they don’t fix it soon.”

The look on Morris’ face must have told a tale.

“Why don’t I come over there and take a look at that roof? I’ll see if there’s anything I can do.” Archie offered uncomfortably.

Morris remembered that old George had given Archie his job with the village years and years ago. Maybe Archie was just giving him some pay back. “The family would appreciate that, Archie. Thanks. How about tomorrow around noon?”

“Yep. See ya.”

Morris left another message for Amber, then paid his bill and hit the sidewalk headed north. He decided to take a walk, see who was around. The main street of Vardin Village was Cleveland Avenue but the business district comprised the eight blocks that surrounded and faced Vardin Park, a small town version of New York’s Central Park. The shops and restaurants along the border were all mom & pop except for a Starbuck’s at the Northeast corner. Morris peeked in the window at Busman’s Florist and saw Jane. She waved a bouquet of daisies with a smile. He passed the Puppy Palace but Ed wasn’t in yet. The Cook’s Kitchen was open for business and it smelled like they were making sausage. Delicious. He might come back to check that out when Edith was behind the counter and sure to offer a sample. There were dozens of businesses along the perimeter, all flourishing thanks to the support of the citizens who wanted to keep downtown quaint.

When he got to Flagg’s Tavern, the door was locked but Morris could see Paddy Flagg behind the bar, going through his mail. He knocked. Paddy looked up and recognized an old customer and friend. He opened the door and shook his hand warmly.

“Can’t serve you at this time of the morning, Morris.”

“You don’t need to, Maria already did.” Morris patted his stomach.

“She makes a nice breakfast, doesn’t she?” Paddy was a gigantic, affable flirt with a heart of gold but a string of unhappy marriages in his past. “I hope one day, to make her my bride.”

Morris was taken aback by the statement. “Maria? Nah, I don’t see it.”

They chatted for a bit and exaggerated a few exploits from their younger days when the conversation turned to Amber.

“I don’t tell tales about the customers but I will tell you that I was concerned. She used to come in every night! Every night! She got chummy with a guy named Edwards. Real jerk. She fell for every stupid lie… foolish. They both need AA.”

“Is he a local?”

“No. Lives over in New Warton. He’s a day laborer but always has a million ideas how to get rich. But when the ideas never pan out it’s because someone else screwed it up. Never his fault. You know the type.”

“Yeah. Sounds like a dreamboat.”

“Amber thinks so, I guess.”

“Were they here last night?”

“Oh, she hasn’t been here since she got fired from Medicorp.”

“Wait. She got fired from Medicorp?”

“Sure did. All part of the plan. She came in here to celebrate because she managed to work enough hours to qualify for unemployment. She’s good for another couple of years.”

“What’s that mean?”

“She gets money from the government two ways. Social Security benefits for the two kids and now unemployment. Both paid direct deposit every month and she doesn’t have to lift a finger.”

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Alex Edwards is behind the whole scam. Mark my words. She does everything he says.”

“Where do they go now for liquid refreshment?”

“Nowhere in Vardin Village. Plus, I have the feeling that they were both going for some non-liquid refreshment. You know?”

“What kind are we talking?”

“The crystal kind.”

“Great.”

“Are the kids okay, Morris? I keep meaning to ask Chief if everything’s okay over there.”

“Quinn knows about Amber’s new pastime?”

“Oh, yes. Not much he can do about Amber until he can catch her red handed but he keeps a watchful eye on the cottage. A lot of us do.”

Morris left another message on Amber’s cell phone.

His next stop was Lubbanick’s Pharmacy where he caught up with Stan and Vera Lubbanick who had been dispensing medicine in Vardin Village since pills came in glass bottles.  The little drug store was on the West side of Vardin Park, kitty corner from the cottage. Morris shot the breeze with Stan while Vera rang up a customer. She joined the pair when the bell over the door tinkled and they were alone.  Morris held up the red-bordered electric bill.

“I need to pay off a fifteen hundred electric bill for the Vardins and I need to do it quietly.”

Stan nodded and Vera took the bill to run it through the right channels. They wouldn’t question the gesture nor would they ever speak of it to others in the town. Morris wrote out a check that he hoped wouldn’t bounce.

“I can see the kids coming and going over there at the cottage and it’s a crying shame. The old man never imagined it would come to this.” Stan said. “We knew Amber was having some trouble keeping up. The little girl, Eleanor, she’s very prone to sinus infections. Amber would bring the scrip from the clinic but never had money to pay for the meds even with the government’s help. I used to pay for it outta my own pocket. Vera used to send her home with tissues and cough medicine, whatever she thought the kids needed.”

Morris was grateful.  “I appreciate that, Stan.”

“Thing is, she started comin’ in with scrips from sketchy doctors, asking for me to fill them. She always had money for those scrips. They were all for pain meds, Morris! I may have been born at night but I wasn’t born last night. I told her to take that business elsewhere.”

Morris nodded. “Good call, Stan.”

Vera handed him the receipt for the electric. “How are they doing, Morris?”

“They’re hanging in there.”

Stan relayed the news that ComEd couldn’t restore electric service to the cottage until Tuesday. The heat wave was keeping everyone busy.

Morris left the pharmacy and left another message for Amber.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

George felt the weight coming back. Uncle Morris was on his way over and he wanted them packed and ready to go. Morris also wanted to know why his mom wouldn’t return calls. The problem with taking help from someone is that you owed them an explanation and George didn’t want to share.

“Oh my God!” Morris said walking in. He couldn’t believe how hot the cottage could get in the middle of the day. He felt the sweat break out just standing at the door. The kids seemed used to it.

“Fear not, kids! I have a solution! We are all going to the Marriott where I have a room for you!”

Eleanor looked at George to see his reaction.

“Thanks, anyway, Uncle Morris, but we don’t mind the heat. We’d rather stay here.”

“George, it’s hotter than Africa in here and, I know! I’ve spent a lot of time in Africa! The forecast says we’re going to hit a hundred today and you won’t have electricity until Tuesday.”

“Mom’s never going to go for it. I really appreciate your help but we don’t need a hotel.”

Eleanor looked down, clearly disappointed.

“The forecast also says we’re getting heavy rain tonight. Thunder and lightning.”

George didn’t respond but his heart sank.

“You’re worried about the roof caving in, aren’t you, George?”

Was Uncle Morris psychic?

George nudged Eleanor. “Why don’t you go outside, Eleanor. Go read on the porch.”

Eleanor took the hint and left through the back door holding her book. Her head was already in the novel since it was far more pleasant than her real life.

“I can’t let you stay in this house, George. It’s not safe.”

George sighed and sat down at the big table.

“We can’t go to the Marriott.”

“Why?”

“Susan Langworthy is getting married tomorrow and the reception is at the Marriott. There’s a bunch of parties and stuff. I don’t want anyone from town to see me.”

“Who gives a crap about the mayor’s daughter and who gives a crap about what people wonder?”

“I do.”

“Are you concerned that people say shitty stuff about your mom?”

“I know they say shitty stuff about my mom. But I don’t care about gossip.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I don’t want people thinking she’s unfit to take care of us! I don’t want to be a foster kid! I don’t want Eleanor in some stranger’s house without me! They can say my mom’s a drunk or a whore or whatever, but as soon as they start seeing evidence that she’s a drunk or a whore, then Eleanor and I get put in the system!”

Morris sat down.

“So I can’t be seen at the Marriott hotel when the mayor and town council are all over the place wondering why I’m not at home with my mother!”

“I get it.”

“In fact, I can’t do anything that gets any ‘official’ person to ask questions. I can’t screw up at school, because teachers are supposed to be on the lookout for ‘at risk’ kids. Me and Eleanor are the poster children for ‘at risk’ kids. I have to walk on eggshells with Coach. I have to make sure Eleanor looks normal at St. Andrew’s. I have to assume that everyone I bump into could report us to DCFS any day.”

Morris felt horrible for the kid. What could he say?

George continued. “This is not your problem and I’m sorry to dump on you. I appreciate your help, I do. But I have this all under control.”

Morris didn’t want to make the situation worse but he had to know. “George. How long has she been gone?”

His head dropped. “Since April.”

George sobbed into arms on the big table. Morris felt helpless. Maybe if he had grown up with a father he would have known to reach out and hug George or say something soothing. But he didn’t have a paternal instinct in his body so he awkwardly patted the boy’s shoulder until he collected himself.

“You can’t tell ANYONE.” George begged.

“What the hell happened?” Morris was livid but he did his best not to show it.

George wiped awkwardly at his face. “She was fired from her job. Of course. She wasn’t coming home much anyway and we never knew if she was going to be out of it or passed out or high. Sometimes she brought this asshole with her. Guy named Alex. He’d come in here and act like me and Eleanor were in the way. He’d tell us to go outside and it was winter! So we went to the library whenever we could but, whatever. So one day in April, right after Spring Break, I come home from school and I look out the window and there’s some guys with a tow truck taking her car.”

Morris raised his eyebrows. “Repo guys?”

“Yeah. Just when I get my driver’s license and get to use that pile of junk to maybe drive somewhere besides Vardin Village, she screws it up. I guess she took out a loan against the car and never paid it back. I don’t know but I knew some angry loan place was calling her a lot. So, I called her cell. I still had service on my phone back then, and I called her cell and I hear it ringing in her bedroom but I knew she wasn’t in there because I would have smelled cigarette smoke. Anyway, I go in there and all her stuff was gone.”

George was choked up again. He his face in his hands. “She never even told me. She never left a note. Just took off.”

“She left her phone?”

“I don’t know if that was on purpose or she knew the bill was due but I’m glad she did because I was able to text people pretending to be her. My paychecks went to pay her cell phone bill and bare necessities. I never thought I could get away with it for this long but here we are.”

“Has she called to check up on you guys?”

“Never.”

“God, kid, that really sucks.”

He shrugged like he didn’t care but his eyes were red-rimmed. “Honestly, it’s been pretty peaceful without her. It was more stressful when she was here. And if it’s okay with you, I’d like to keep doing this as long as I can.”

“Jeez, kid, I can’t just let you live like this and I don’t have a home in Vardin Village to offer you.”

“We’ll be fine here. I swear.”

“Unless it rains.”

George dropped his head again. “Yeah.”

“Where do you usually go during storms?”

He wiped his eyes. “I sometimes sleep over at one of the guys houses but only if Eleanor is with the Tillmans but they’re out of town. I have this place I used to go…”

“Where can you go tonight?”

“We can stay here. The roof is weak over the bedrooms but okay in the front room so far. We’ll camp here.”

Morris had no idea what to do. “Let’s go get some lunch.”

They collected a sad looking Eleanor and walked over the Village Diner. Maria was happy to see the children and brought them right to the window booth.

“Lunch is on me, today.” Maria said cheerfully. “And that includes dessert so order up anything you want from the menu.”

“Thank you Mrs. Ramirez.” George said and Eleanor mumbled. Maria gave Morris a quizzical look but didn’t pry.

George was so